Secrets and Lies
by Alipeeps
Summary: Whumpy tag fic to the episode Birds of a Feather. TVverse but shouldn't contradict book canon. COMPLETE
1. Harry

_My first foray into The Dresden Files fanfic - probably the first of many, given that I have developed a sudden obsession with the show. This is a shortish fic, a whumpy tag (what else were you expecting?) to the first episode, Birds of a Feather. Second chapter to follow shortly. This fic is set in the TV-verse, obviously, but as we don't have a TDF section under TV shows just yet, I'm hoping it's okay to post it here. It shouldn't really contradict anything canon from the books anyhow.. Speech in italics is taken from the episode._

_Reviews are love.. :)_

* * *

"What happened to your face?" 

The question caught Harry off-guard. He'd been so focused on finding Scott, on finding a way to defeat the skinwalker, that he'd pushed his aches and pains to one side, urgency trumping discomfort. He'd ignored the way his body ached when he moved, had forgotten all about the scabbed-over cuts on his face. Murphy's words were a sharp reminder that he actually felt quite crappy and he knew his sheepish smile was about as convincing as his hastily mumbled evasion about being clumsy. Murphy's lips thinned and her closed expression spoke volumes. Harry stifled a wince; he really was a terrible liar.

"_Pretty convenient explosion. I'm not big on convenience."_

He could tell she was pissed at him as he followed her out of the building and along the street. Murphy was a cop and cops hate loose ends. She had a job to do, just as he did, and that meant closing cases; closing them with sensible, credible explanations that wouldn't make her reports look like something out of the National Enquirer. He knew the gas explosion story was thin and that Murphy was justifiably suspicious but what could he do? Even if he wanted to tell her, even if she would even believe him that a supernatural creature that can walk around in someone else's skin had been targeting Scott because he had latent magical ability, he couldn't. The High Council forbade it. If you don't know that magic is real, then you don't get to know. Secrets and lies. His relationship with Murphy was built on them and he hated it.. and he knew she did too.

"_Well, how about kids being returned safely to their family? Are you big on that?"_

He hated having to sidestep what he knew was a question. A question he simply couldn't answer. He couldn't keep the frustration from his voice, his hand on Murphy's arm halting her stride, willing her to understand.

"_Yeah. One problem though – the kid was adopted illegally."_

She turned and kept walking, the same frustration tightening her voice. Murphy was a good cop – and a good person – and he knew she wanted to do right by the kid... but, like him, she had rules that she had to follow. In Harry's experience, however, rules could usually be bent a little.

"_Okay well, you know, if you ever find the birth parents then yeah, that might be a problem but until then.. Sheryl Sharpe? She loves him.. and he loves her. Now isn't that enough?"_

Murphy had a pretty good poker face when she wanted to and the look she gave him as he made his little speech was careful, non-committal. She let him talk and then she looked at him, just looked at him, and for a second he thought he saw something in her eyes; she still wasn't happy with him but there was maybe a grudging agreement there? Wasn't there? He hurried after her, beginning to doubt himself.

_"Is that a yes?"

* * *

__TBC..._


	2. Murphy

_Concluding chapter of my first Dresden Files fic. This is set in the TV-verse but I have tried to be non-descript enough to make it not contradict anything in the bookverse too much either._

_Getting Murphy's character down was a bit of a struggle at times so I hope I've done it justice._

* * *

Gas explosion, my ass.

Dresden's story was ridiculous; she knew it, he knew it. But what was she gonna do? Forensics hadn't found a thing to disprove it and, as Harry said, at the end of the day, the kid was safe and sound and the killer was gone. Without a trace. Dammit.

And there was Harry, in the middle of things as usual, with a face full of bruises and a story so thin it was almost see-through. And she'd swallowed it - written it up in her report and submitted it. What else could she do? Didn't mean she had to like it though. Murphy sighed in frustration; this was driving her insane. It was a loose end and she hated loose ends and she just couldn't seem to drop this. Instead of coming home and relaxing after a job well done, another case successfully closed, she'd spent her evening going over and over this in her head, trying to work out just what could have happened; what Harry was hiding.

And just what the hell had happened to him anyway? His face had looked like someone had used it as a punchbag and it hadn't been just his face either. His movements had been a little stiff; he'd been trying to hide it but it was a fair bet he had some other bruises to match the fine example on his lip. Damn him, anyway. Why couldn't he just tell her the truth? But no, nothing is ever that simple with Harry. Instead he calls her out of the blue to say the kid is safe, turns up at the station house looking like he picked a fight with a gorilla and lost, sidesteps every single one of her questions and makes her feel guilty for trying to do her job. Just where did he get off laying a guilt trip on her over Scott when he was the one lying to her…

She wondered sometimes why on earth she put up with this. With him. Sure he was a useful resource, offered some great insight into the more weird and wonderful cases that come across her desk. She'd even go so far as to call him a friend. Well, maybe not to his face. But she didn't know what to make of him. He called himself a wizard and he certainly knew a lot about the occult and about mythology and all that kinda crazy stuff… that's why she called him in on these cases, after all. But Murphy wasn't blind and she wasn't stupid and she knew that there was a lot more going on with Harry than he let on. And cases had a nasty tendency to get real complicated, real fast when he was involved… and to end up in those irritating, messy resolutions that left her feeling like she'd misplaced something important. Like there was a huge, glaring clue somewhere and she'd missed it. Solved on paper but still feeling… like a loose end. Like this case.

Dammit.

She couldn't settle, couldn't put this nagging feeling out of her mind, and frustration finally got the better of her; a spur of the moment decision that found her guiding her car through the darkened city streets, heading over to Harry's place. She didn't even know what she was going to say to him when she got there, just that she'd had enough of the secrets and the lies.

The lights were on at Harry's, the blinds drawn over the windows, but there was no answer when she knocked. She gave the doorknob an experimental twist and grimaced in disapproval when the door opened. One of these days…

"Harry?"

She peered around the door a little hesitantly. She didn't quite feel comfortable walking in unannounced at this time of night but there was no answer to her call, in fact the only sound in the candle-lit room was a low, rumbling noise… Her eyes fell on a pair of long legs stretched out from the sofa.

He didn't react when she closed the door behind her and as she reached the sofa she saw that Harry was dead to the world, his head tipped to one side, mouth open, snoring gently. That's not all she saw. He was slouched down on the seat, a book lying open the floor; it looked like he started off sitting up on the sofa and slowly slid down as he dozed off while reading, his legs splaying out across the floor. Murphy was a cop, a trained observer, and she automatically took notice of the flash of pale skin where his t-shirt had ridden up, his slide down the sofa cushions scrunching the fabric up. There was something not right about that brief glimpse of flesh and Murphy felt her gut tighten, frustration warring with concern, as she leaned over for a closer look at the angry bruising purpling Harry's skin. Nothing like being proven right…

"Harry."

Nothing.

"Harry!" She put a little more force into it this time, letting some of that frustration colour her voice. He stirred groggily and she leaned back, standing over him impatiently as he blinked into wakefulness, looking up at her with drowsy surprise.

"Uh, hey Murph. What's up?"

She watched him closely as he tried to gather himself, caught the telltale flinch as he struggled to push himself upright.

"Harry…"

Her angry words faltered as Harry suddenly froze, his face twisting in a grimace of pain that he couldn't hide. Damn him. He was a fool and a pain in the behind but he was also a friend and, however he'd solved this case, he'd gotten himself beaten half to death in the process. And of course he wasn't going to tell her a damn thing about what had really happened. What had she been thinking?

Her anger suddenly drained away and she gave a sigh of exasperation as she leaned forward and took his arm, helping to pull him slowly and stiffly to his feet, Harry gritting his teeth as his bruises protested the movement.

"That's what you get when you sleep on the sofa and let the bruises start to stiffen up, Dresden," she chided, unable to keep the remnants of her frustration from her words.

He gave her a sheepish look that said he knew he was busted and didn't argue when she pulled his arm across her shoulders and aimed them in the direction of Harry's bedroom.

"What are you doing here, Murph?" he asked as she nudged him forwards. A frown creased his brow, "Is Scott alright?"

"Scott's fine. Scott's with his mother." She resolutely ignored the slight smirk on Harry's face at her choice of words. Well, it was true enough. Maybe not under the strictest letter of the law but in just about every way that mattered, Sheryl Sharpe was Scott's mother.

"So why are.."

"I came here looking for a fight, actually," she interrupted him, "but it looks like you've already had one. And I can't quite bring myself to kick a man when he's down." Her tone wasn't entirely joking.

He tried to shrug it off, literally, and she felt him tense as the ill-advised motion pulled at sore muscles and aching bruises. She felt anger building in her again, not so much at Harry this time, though yeah, that was definitely a factor, but at whoever had done this to him.

"What the hell happened to you, Dresden? Who did this?"

This time the shrug was metaphorical as he once again evaded her questions. "Unsatisfied customer. You know how it is…" he joked weakly.

"No, Harry. I don't." This time she really wasn't joking, her words hanging heavy in the air between them.

"Murphy…" Harry's tone was apologetic, reluctant, and suddenly she didn't want to do this anymore, didn't want to hear another lie. They had reached Harry's bedroom and she forestalled his latest excuse by the simple expedient of pushing him down to sit on the bed, taking a tiny bit of guilty satisfaction at his stifled groan.

"Forget it, Harry," she told him. "Whatever mess you've gotten yourself into, if you don't want to tell me about it then that's fine. It just better not have been anything illegal." She didn't look at him as she spoke, crouching down beside the bed to unlace his shoes.

"Hey," he tried to protest her attentions, "I'm not a kid, Murphy!"

"Really?" She gave him a level look and sat back on her heels. "You planning to just sleep in your shoes or are you trying to tell me that you can bend forward enough to touch your toes right now?"

His guilty look was answer enough and she returned to her task, loosening the laces and slipping the shoes from his feet. She stood up and looked him over, her tone brisk and professional as she asked him, "D'you need help getting undressed?"

"You don't have to do this, Murphy…" He looked up at her and faltered under the repressed anger of her gaze. He sighed. "I'm fine. Really."

She regarded him disbelievingly, hands on her hips, feeling ridiculously like a mother with a recalcitrant child. "What? You're gonna sleep in your clothes? In jeans?"

She felt like rolling her eyes when he offered her a goofy grin and admitted, "Yup. I am going to sleep in my clothes." Moving stiffly, he swung his legs up onto the bed and carefully stretched his long frame out on top of the duvet, the lines of tension smoothing from his face as he relaxed with a heartfelt sigh.

She stood helplessly for a moment before, with an exasperated sigh, shoving his legs aside and pulling the duvet out from under them, scolding, "At least get into bed properly." He mumbled in half-hearted protest as she roughly tugged the duvet out from under him and tossed it over his chest. Her emotions were a jumbled mess as she stood there looking down at Harry; he looked tired and drawn, his face cut and bruised, dark bags under his eyes. One the one hand she was worried about him, wanting to know what on earth he'd gotten himself into to end up in such a mess, and on the other hand she wanted to bawl him out for leaving her out of the loop, for lying to her. The anger that had spurred her to come here, looking for answers, had deserted her and now she just felt tired, disheartened. She didn't know what was going on with Harry and why he felt he had to lie to her; she just wished it didn't have to be that way. No more secrets. No more lies.

His eyes were closed and his breathing was already deepening, sleep stealing up on him again. With a rueful sigh she pulled the duvet higher over his chest, murmuring, "Take care of yourself, Harry."

He stirred sleepily as she turned to go and his eyes blinked open once again, regarding her solemnly.

"Thanks, Murphy."

He was serious for once and somehow, she knew he wasn't just talking about tonight. It felt almost like an apology and left her wondering again what it was that was so damn important that he felt he couldn't tell her the truth about it. She gave him a stiff nod, not trusting herself to speak, and walked away.

* * *

_Fin._


End file.
